


All I Want for Christmas

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Advent 2017, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: When Fitz's flight home for Christmas is grounded, he invites his neighbour - slash unofficial member of his household, since she doesn't have a fixed address - Skye, over for definitely-not-Christmas dinner instead.Then he's offered another flight.





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> for Tumblr anon who prompted no.14 from [25 Days of Christmas Romance](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/post/168074208371/25-days-christmas-romance-challenge). also written for AOS Advent 2017's prompt [ "sacrifice" ](https://aosadvent2017.tumblr.com/post/168172194033/banner-by-the-beautiful-merryfitzsimmons-22#notes)

There’s a knock at his door. Fitz rushes to type to the end of his credit card number, but it’s only a second or two before his visitor knocks again, hammering impatiently this time.

“Just a second!” he calls, desperate not to lose track. With a storm raging overhead, last minute airline tickets are hard to come by and if he doesn’t get this one -

“Take your time!” calls the familiar voice of his neighbour. Well, neighbour-of-sorts. “It’s not like I have any nuts to freeze off out here.” 

Fitz’s eyes shoot up from the screen. He leaps over the back of the couch and in barely more than two great strides, covers the distance and pulls the door open, to find Skye glaring irritably at him between a puffy black windbreaker and a hand-knitted purple beanie pulled low, over her ears. After a moment, however, she smirks and snorts, and pushes her way past him into his apartment. 

“Mail’s on the dining table,” Fitz offers, stepping out of the way and gesturing a sweeping welcome. 

Gleefully stripping off her jacket and ripping her beanie from her head to enjoy his heating, Skye rolls her eyes and laughs at the hideous clash of reds and greens smattered throughout the room. When her eyes fall back on him, she realises he is wearing a sweater with a reindeer on it – a reindeer with a red pom-pom for a nose, no less - and quirks a curious eyebrow. 

“Overcompensating a bit with the Christmas spirit aren’t we?” she teases, “Seeing as nobody else lives here, and you’re not even going to be here?” 

Fitz waves around the room. “All this could be yours for three sporadically-well-heated, poorly-internetted days, if - Oh, shit!” 

Fitz dives for his laptop. Caught up in the moment of greeting Skye, he’d forgotten about the unfinished transaction – and now it has timed out. Typing furiously, Fitz snarls to himself at the red text that appears.

 _SOLD OUT._  

He slumps backward onto the couch and casts his laptop aside, closing his eyes and trying to refrain from moaning in agony and frustration. 

“Nevermind,” he mutters instead. 

Frowning, Skye creeps toward him. “Nevermind what?” 

“It’s nothing.” Fitz shakes his head. “Just – this bloody storm. The airline I originally booked won’t fly in this weather and my last chance at some Flights-R-Us rustbucket just went out the window. I’m not getting home for Christmas.” 

Skye drops her eyes back to her mail for a moment. She doesn’t know what solace to offer – it’s not as if she has any family to fly home to, even if she could. Even if she wanted to. But she knows that Fitz loves his mother and it must be hard, being away from her for so long. Looking forward to seeing her for so long, and having it ripped from his fingertips at the last moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because it’s the best that she can do. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Fitz shrugs. “They’re just trying to keep people safe, I get it.” 

“Still a bummer though,” Skye points out. 

“Yeah. Still a bummer.” He sighs. “But hey – you should still come and stay. No point wasting perfectly good decorations, right?” 

“Good?” Skye snorts. “And no, thanks. I’m not a fan of God or capitalism so I’ll opt on outta that one. If you don’t need me to feed your cat, I’ll be in my van.” 

“Making no noise and pretending that you don’t exist?” Fitz teases. Skye scowls, and points her mail at him accusingly. 

“Never. Start a Harry Potter quoting contest. In front of me.” 

Fitz rolls his eyes and raises his hands, conceding defeat. Skye is almost disappointed that he doesn’t keep it going, but she can hardly blame him. Bad news can be distracting. But there might just be something she can do about it.

“Well! I’ll be off then,” she announces, reaching for her jacket again. Fitz pulls himself out of his chair. 

“Come on, no!” he pleads. “It’s freezing out there!”  
  
“I’ve got rugs,” Skye says. “And the seals on my doors work way better now. I’m good. You men and your fixed addresses. Ha.” 

She shrugs on her jacket, flicks her hair out of the collar, and reaches for her beanie. Fitz snatches it from the table instead, balling it into his fist as he hands it over. Skye looks up at him, curious. Her heart’s beating suspiciously hard. 

“Christmas dinner,” Fitz insists. “Just you and me.” 

“I’m serious, Fitz,” Skye says. “I don’t need your pity, okay? Christmas is a miserable time for me and I don’t want to Grinch out all over you so just –“ 

“Who said you need my pity?” Fitz retorts. “I need yours! I’m gonna be alone in this hideous elf-vomit of an apartment on the one night a year I’d otherwise get to see my family, and even Scruffy has more friends than I do. Let’s cancel Christmas. Let’s schedule a Pity Party for December 25th and watch movies for the wrong holiday. Please?” 

Skye feels their hands brush, where they are both still clutching her beanie, unmoving. Her heart leaps at the thought of a cosy, funny, warm and easy non-Christmas, but she draws a deep breath. She knows what she has to do. 

She snorts out the air in her lungs and gives him an exaggerated, full-body eye-roll. 

“Fine!”

Fitz beams, and releases the beanie. “See you at six.” 

Skye offers him the best smile she can manage, which is surprisingly heart as she feels a sting at the thought that she will not, in fact, be seeing him. Still, she can do something better for him – if she turns and leaves now, before she makes a mistake. 

“I really do have to go though,” she excuses herself, pressing on toward the door. “If I’m late again even Coulson might have to boot me out on my ass.” 

“Sure, go, go!” Fitz waves her off, rushing to a diner shift that she doesn’t even have, and Skye hides her face as she rushes down the hall. One day, that man’s going to get too good at looking at her and start to figure out when she’s pulling one over. 

Fortunately, today is not that day. Nor is the next, while Fitz is distracted by packing away the overbearing spirit of Christmas, apologising to his mother over the phone, and cooking up a storm – after all, it may not be Christmas, but that does not mean it can’t be a meal and a half. In fact, the thought that Skye might have lied about what she had been doing that night only crosses his mind for half a second, when on the night of Christmas Eve, Fitz receives a phone call. 

“So – “ he checks again, “what are you saying?” 

_“Sir, we’re reinstating certain flights and your name was on a list for the UK. We’re no longer flying direct to Edinborough during the storm but we can get you on a flight to Heathrow by tomorrow afternoon. Do you accept?”_

“Can – Can I think about it?” Fitz blinks, surprised at himself; that his heart is not leaping out of his throat at the chance to see his mother again, even if later and more complicated than planned. 

 _“I’m sorry, sir,”_ the airline officer replies. _“Due to the high demand for travel during this time I’m afraid I need an answer now.”_

Now. Now?

Fitz looks around, for some kind of sign. And perhaps, if he’d left his Christmas decorations up, or put the phone away after calling his mother, he would have made a different call. Instead, though, he sees the pie he has just made cooling on its rack, and the stack of movies dedicated to the wrong holidays sitting on the end of the bench, and Scruffy, scowling at him – as always - from the windowsill above the radiator. 

_“Excuse me, sir?”_

“Uh. Yeah, sorry, I’m still here.” He takes a deep breath and pinches his nose, taking one last second to hope that he is not making a big mistake before his inner romantic completely takes over. “Thanks for the offer but I won’t take the flight. I’ve, uh… made other plans.”

_“Of course, sir. My apologies again.”_

“No problem. Have a good night.” 

He hangs up the phone, snatches his keys, and races for the door, only pausing as he lifts his jacket off the hanger to turn back to Scruffy and say: 

“You stay there. I’ll be right back.”


End file.
